


Where The Love Light Gleams

by Elizabeethan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, In chapter 2, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeethan/pseuds/Elizabeethan
Summary: Killian visits his brother and sister-in-law in Storybrooke, Maine for the holidays and runs into the woman who broke his heart three years ago.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 24
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry almost Christmas! I was feeling a little angsty the other day and finally sat down to watch the Dust Storm, then had an idea for a CS AU. This isn’t based strictly on the film and a lot of it’s plot points are different, but it is somewhat similar! With a Christmas twist, of course.
> 
> With that being said, there are mentions and brief descriptions of alcohol consumption, abuse, and withdrawal in this fic (although not nearly as heavily used as in the film) so please be aware of that.
> 
> Also, the worlds largest snowman (and snowwoman), as described here, is a real thing!! It was built in 2008 in Maine, and fun fact, I was there! I think the record was recently broken in Austria, but whatever. Olympia will always be number one in my heart.
> 
> Finally, thank you to @donteattheappleshook for your beta services!

To say that Killian is miserable is a bit dramatic. Sure, he’s in this strange little town with only his brother to keep him entertained, but it’s a blessing to be spending the holidays with him and his new bride. Certainly better than being alone in Boston now that Liam has moved from England, he tries to remind himself. But the fact remains that he hasn’t been in much of a Christmas mood over the past few years, and he would almost rather be back at home getting some work done. 

He isn’t a workaholic, honest. And he definitely isn't a scrooge, despite what his brother thinks. Really, he just hasn’t been in the mood to celebrate for a while. 

Well, a few years, he supposes. 

And it’s  _ not _ because of a woman. No, it most definitely isn’t because of the fiery blonde who stole his heart and ran as far and as fast as she could once things started to feel real. 

(She didn’t steal it; he gave it willingly.) 

As the snow falls upon an overly-picturesque Main Street, Killian gets about as close as he possibly can to grumbling without any sound actually coming out. It’s freezing here— although not much colder than Boston— and if he has to spend any more time outdoors this weekend, he may very well lose a toe. It’s as he’s making his way down the slushy streets, avoiding the overly cheerful townsfolk and keeping his head down to avoid getting snow in his eyes, that he suddenly feels the warmth he’s been craving for three years. 

It can’t possibly be true. The woman he’s just crashed into, the one with golden hair that smells like minty, fruity shampoo, couldn't possibly be her. 

But when he looks up, he sees  _ her. _

The woman who ripped his heart out of his chest three years ago and ran off to Phoenix with it. 

_ Bloody Hell. _

“Oh my… god,” she says slowly, dumbfounded. “ _ Killian?” _

She looks stunning. Even more beautiful than he could ever imagine her becoming. Her hair is longer, a whiter shade of blonde under her gray beanie, her eyes perhaps an even more intense shade of emerald, cheeks just as round and rosy as ever, and he can tell even under the large puffer jacket that her body is even more perfect than he remembers. 

This can’t actually be happening to him, can it?

He clears his throat, his hand drifting up to the spot behind his ear as he nods. “Hi.”

She laughs lightly and his entire world starts spinning at the sound he’s missed so dearly. She grounds him, though, the spinning coming to a halt when she springs on him and hugs him tight. “Oh my god,” she whispers against his neck. 

He can’t stop himself from hugging her back, the scent of her shampoo back in his nose and conjuring up memories he didn’t even know he had. “Aye,” he chuckles against her hair, taking in another breath. “Long time.” 

“How are you?” she asks as she pulls away, a bright smile on her face. 

“I’m… fine, I guess,” he says, screwing up his face and making her laugh. 

“I mean, what are you doing here in Maine? What the hell? What a coincidence that we’re both  _ here! _ ” 

“Aye, it is. I’m visiting with my brother and sister-in-law for the holidays.” 

“Liam?” He nods. “He moved here? He’s married?” 

He nods once more. “He did. He and Elsa moved here after the wedding two years ago. My, uh…” he clears his throat. “My dad finally passed away, so nothing was holding him there.”

How he’s allowing himself to do this is beyond him. His willingness and ease in opening right back up to her without thought is maddening to him, but somehow so natural. Bloody hell, has he missed her. “I’m so sorry,” she consoles, lightly touching his shoulder. “Would you… would you want to grab a drink with me?” 

“Yes,” he says, before he can even consider how stupid his answer is. But it’s snowing hard and it’s freezing and—

And the love of his life just crashed back into it. He sure as hell isn’t letting her go so easily this time around. 

~~~~

He doesn’t tell her that he stopped drinking soon after she left. Doesn’t tell her how badly he reacted to her fleeing, turning to rum in hopes of numbing the gash in his chest that she left wide open. He doesn’t tell her that one of their favorite things to do together became the thing that almost killed him. 

He ignores two phone calls from Liam. 

When she takes him to the Rabbit Hole, a dive, but the only option in this horribly quaint town, she orders what used to be his favorite shot. It sends a pang of nostalgia so strongly through him that he can’t deny her anything, couldn’t possibly say no to a second when she asks. After he’s had three, his lips are so loose that he should probably staple them shut. 

“So,” she says, leaning drunkenly towards him as he does the same to her. “Tell me about your life now. What else has changed?” 

He laughs, as if anything since she left is the same, and holds up his left arm. “I got this,” he says, sloppily pointing towards the prosthetic. 

Her mouth gapes open and she drops the glass to the table with a bit too much force as realization hits her. “Is that,” she starts, but it seems like she’s unable to get any words out. 

“A fake,” he tells her, knocking it against the table. “Lost it in the Navy.” 

“Oh, Killian…” 

He feels nauseous at her pity because he knows exactly what she’s thinking. He always knows what she’s thinking. 

“Not your fault,” he shrugs. He doesn’t have to elaborate because he knows that she knows that he joined the Navy full time because she left him. “You tell me something now,” he insists. 

She clears her throat and shakes her head, glancing away from him and smiling as she thinks of the thing she wants to tell him. “I’m here because my brother is having a baby. Well, his wife is.” 

“David?” he asks. Although she was adopted by David’s mother as a teenager, she still struggled to consider him a brother when the two of them were together, so to hear her label him as such was strange.

“Yes,” she giggles. “My only brother, David.”

“Ha ha,” he chortles sarcastically, bumping into her and laughing for real as he takes another sip from the drink she ordered from memory. “That’s lovely news.”

“Maybe you can come meet him once he’s born.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Now, what about  _ good _ news?” she requests. 

_ Good news,  _ he thinks.  _ Since you left? _

“I don’t know,” he says with a sad shrug. “My brother got married.” 

“Yes, I heard,” she laughs, always able to make any situation feel light despite how miserable he may be. “I meant for you, though. Tell me something good that’s happened to you.” 

He laughs, but it comes out more like a scoff. How can he tell her that, since she left him, his life has been shit? How can he still be so hung up on this bloody woman? “I don’t know,” he says again. 

She shifts, and he can tell that she understands his meaning. Liam texts him again and he locks his phone without reading it. 

She laughs lightly to fill the silence between them, taking another sip from her drink before saying, “dance with me.” 

It isn’t a request. It reminds him of how many times he asked her to do just that in the sleazy clubs in Boston, and how many times she was too insecure to say yes. But now here she is, asking him, and he wonders what else has changed about her. 

He says yes. 

They’re on the dance floor, almost completely alone, dancing to shitty old music because apparently good songs haven’t found their way to Maine yet. And she looks so wild and so free as she swings her hair from side to side, slides her back up to his front, and lifts her arms until they’re reaching behind her to the back of his head and she’s pulling him close. His mouth is so close to her ear that he could nibble on it easily— she likes that. But he doesn’t, because he knows she’ll run. 

But then she’s spinning around to face him, dangerously close as she continues to swing her hips with her hands in his hair, and he leans down and kisses her. 

He knows it’s a bad idea the second he does it. He’s a fool for doing this, but he hasn’t had a drink in almost two years and he isn’t thinking clearly. All he can think about is the fact that she just started kissing him back. 

He’s heartbroken when she pulls away just as quickly, looking confused and torn and broken as she turns away from him. He tries to call after her that he’s sorry, he knows he fucked up, he shouldn’t have done that, but just like three years ago when she left him, she’s gone once more without a word. 

As confused as he was when he ran into her, he’s far more confused now. 

~~~~

When he wakes the next morning in the room he rented because Liam and Elsa were renovating their house, he’s feeling worse than he has in years. There were many reasons he quit drinking, and the hangovers were certainly one of them. The throbbing in his brain sends it slamming against the front of his skull with each move he makes, and the bright light streaming in through the blinds isn't helping. What he needs is an aspirin and a greasy breakfast sandwich, plus about a gallon of water, but he’s got to get out of bed to get any of those things, and he thinks he may be sick if he tries to stand. 

He also needs to stop thinking about the fact that he saw Emma Swan last night. Maybe if he got any drunker he could’ve convinced himself that it was some sort of fever dream. Seeing her nearly killed him because he knows that he would take her back without a second thought despite how badly things ended the last time. The fact is, their relationship needed work, and instead of putting in the effort and communication necessary, Emma simply ran. 

What he really,  _ really _ needs is for his phone to stop ringing and that knocking to go the hell away. 

“What?” He calls out, his voice groggy and thick from the dry air and his dehydration. 

“Open the door,” she demands, and his heart begins racing at the sound of her voice.  _ What the bloody hell is Emma doing here?  _

He tries really hard to stand up. He’s barely got his eyes open, the movements sending a rush of blood to his head with each step he takes, but he’s a damn fool and he can’t let an opportunity to speak with her pass him by. When he reaches the door, he leans his blunted, naked arm against the frame and rests his head against it as he opens the door. 

She’s bright eyed and bushy tailed when he first opens it, but when she sees the state he’s in, her face falls immediately. She drops her arms to her side, coffee and to-go bags hitting against her thighs as she takes in his appearance. “Oh no,” she says. “You look like you could use some breakfast.” 

He couldn’t stay away from her if he tried, truly. He can smell the bagel inside the bag already, and it’s making his mouth water. All he needs is some water and he’ll be as good as new, right? 

He moves slightly out of her way so that she can brush past him, sliding gracefully into the room and placing her offerings on the small table by the bed, just beside the prosthetic he doesn’t remember removing and the half-empty bottle of rum he bought on his way back here. He should throw that away. 

Once everything is settled, she takes her coffee and seats herself on his bed.  _ Bloody hell _ . If the sheets smell like her tonight… 

“How'd you know where my room was?” 

She shrugs. “There's only three rooms here. I took a lucky guess and followed the stench of day-old rum.”

He tries to laugh but nearly falls to the ground, a wave of nausea pulsing through him once more. 

“Oh,” she says, moving towards her large bag and pulling out a bottle of water to toss at him. He catches it one-handed, as he does everything, and opens it up effortlessly, gulping the entire bottle down almost instantly. 

“Thank you, love,” he says, then wonders if he can still call her that. He still loves her. 

“You look awful,” she remarks playfully, giving him a smirk. 

“Thanks,” he grumbles. He moves across the room and takes a bagel out of the bag she brought, his stomach singing in anticipation as he takes the first bite. 

“I’m only teasing,” she tells him with the soft smile he recognizes. The one he’s yearned for for years. 

“Aye, I know when you're teasing. I’m just a bit hungover. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged that much.” 

“Really?” she asks, turning towards him once he sits on the edge of the bed as far from her as possible. “How long?” 

He clears his throat, buying time by taking another bite and practically groaning at the feeling of his body coming back to life. “Little over two years.” 

She stills, her face falling, her shoulders sagging as she clearly and effortlessly puts together the timeline in her mind. “Oh.” 

He says nothing in response, taking a hefty swig of his coffee made just the way he likes it. 

“I’m sorry, Killian—,” she starts, but he raises his short arm to cut her off. 

“No, I shouldn’t have said yes, it’s my own fault.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she says awkwardly. 

“No, not like I shouldn't have said  _ yes, _ just…” he sighs, dropping his head slightly in defeat. “I wanted to catch up, I just shouldn't have drank, that’s all.” 

“You're almost three years sober and I pushed you to drink within fifteen minutes of seeing you,” she says, her tone filled with self-defeat and disappointment. 

He attempts to laugh and lighten the mood by saying, “it’s not the first time you've driven me to the bottle, love,” but he can see how bad of an idea that was the minute the words leave his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” she nearly whispers. “I should go. I shouldn't have come.” She’s standing, getting herself ready to leave because he’s driving her away again. It’s his fault, again. 

“Emma, no,” he tries. 

“No, I just… I came to apologize for running off last night. I should've stayed and talked to you and dealt with that, and I'm sorry that I didn’t. So I've said my piece, and now I should go.” 

He’s thrown by her words, her statement of wanting to  _ discuss _ the events that transpired, because that was always the last thing she wanted to do when they were together. All they really did was drink and fuck each other and argue, falling in love somehow despite never having a conversation of substance. Each time he tried, she distracted him with a drink or her body. And because of that, things ended the moment it became difficult between them. The moment he tried to make it  _ real _ . “You want to… talk?” he asks, his shock clear in his voice. 

She laughs, dejected, and responds, “is that so surprising?”

“Yes.” 

She clears her throat awkwardly, wrapping her arms around her middle before moving back towards the bed to sit down again. “I just wanted to come here to say I’m sorry and that I shouldn't have run off. Or left you with the bill. That’s why I brought you breakfast, to try and make up for it.”

“You never want to talk.” 

“I’m not the same person you knew three years ago.” 

“Then what’s changed? Aside from the fact that you suddenly seem open to having a conversation with me?” 

“Killian,” she sighs, running her fingers through her perfectly messy hair. “I didn't think I would be having this conversation with you in this ass-backwards town after not seeing you for three years.” 

“Well, I didn't think I would be having any conversation with you, ever.” She sighs again, and he knows he’s being unfair. He probably can’t blame her for everything that went wrong. 

“I get it, okay? I fucked up. I  _ was _ fucked up. I still am fucked up. I fucked you up, obviously. I shouldn't have done most of the shit I did when we were together. But right now, I'm feeling nostalgic, and I've missed you terribly and seeing you yesterday… Well, I just missed you, okay?” 

He huffs out a breath, taking another generous swig from the to-go cup then running his fingers through his hair. “You think I haven’t missed you just as terribly?” 

“So can’t we just enjoy this time we have together? Come to town with me and we can go to that holiday festival they have going on. Something brought us together and I don't want to waste this opportunity to catch up with you.” 

And that is how Emma Swan convinced Killian Jones to forget all of the heartbreak she put him through three years ago. Not by offering him a drink, not by using sex as a bargaining chip, but by talking to him. He isn’t sure if this is a horrible idea or a brilliant one. 

His phone rings again, and he knows Liam will chastise him if he answers the call. 

It isn't as if they talk about anything meaningful. Their conversations throughout most of the day are rather bland and lack any quintessence whatsoever, but that doesn't mean he enjoys her company any less. They were always good at this, the banter and the jokes and the lighthearted conversations. Her sarcasm is infectious, as is her laugh, and he does whatever he can to hear it ringing through his ears again and again. 

The winter festival is lackluster, the small and sleepy town providing all that it can but not holding a candle to anything he’s seen in Boston. There’s supposed to be some snowman building event soon, followed by a tree lighting ceremony, but he doesn’t get his hopes up. It’s still snowing lightly somehow, and the flakes that settle on Emma’s lashes are begging to be kissed away, although he holds back. Emma said she missed him, but in what capacity, he isn't sure. 

“What about your nephew?” he finally asks as they walk through the overly cheerful crowd watching a couple of children sledding. 

“Not here yet,” she responds. “I’ve just been waiting and waiting. I’m glad I ran into you, otherwise I’d have to be sitting with the lovebirds all this time.” 

“Ah,” he says with a falsely somber tone. “So I'm simply a means to an end?” 

She knows he’s joking and looks up at him with a bright smile that could probably melt some of the snow surrounding them. “You caught me,” she laughs. “I’m using you for your company alone.” 

“I am rather good company, I must admit. Who else would buy you a bloody four dollar hot chocolate?” 

She laughs again, bumping his shoulder with her own, and says, “no one.” 

“Precisely.” 

When she starts shivering, he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close to him. She doesn’t flinch or pull away, only turning her body slightly so that she fits perfectly under his arm, then wrapping her own around his waist as they continue strolling. 

The winter festival doesn’t offer them much by means of entertainment, but apparently, Storybrooke, Maine is breaking a record for the world’s largest snowman, around which the festival is built. Once they reach the center of the park, Emma enjoying her caramel corn and occasionally sharing with Killian, they’re able to watch as the townsfolk put the finishing touches on the stories-high structure. She laughs when the crane carries a giant truck tire to use as the coal eyes and mouth. 

“Look at that!” she shouts, pointing at the two trees they plan to use as arms. The thing is at least 100 feet high, and it doesn’t seem like the 30 foot spruce will be big enough. She nearly collapses from laughter, apparently in utter disbelief that this is happening before her. It truly is magnificent to watch, the record-breaking snowman coming together before their very eyes. Apparently, the entire process has taken close to a month, and the festival celebrates the end of construction. 

“Quite astonishing, aye?” 

“Aye,” she laughs, resting her head on his shoulder as the people around them begin to applaud the final product. The thing is massive, and somewhat horrifying, but it was fun to be there to witness it’s completion. With her. 

An announcement is made that the tree lighting ceremony will begin soon and Emma makes a comment about wanting to make this day as cheesy as they can by doing all of the small-town winter activities, so they head that way. 

Again, Storybrooke has nothing on Boston in any capacity, but the small and homey feel of a town where everyone knows each other and welcomes the newcomers makes him feel quite at home. Though he isn't sure if it’s the town or the woman on his arm who seems more than comfortable to be there. 

Everyone lets out an  _ ooh _ and an  _ aah _ as the lights are plugged in once the sun goes down, and Emma lets out a gentle, contented laugh, her smile beaming and blinding him. She glances to him quickly, her grin softening. He knows it must be because he’s unable to hide the look of wonderment on his face as he gazes at her. “It’s really something,” she says softly. 

His smile grows and his eyes flutter, and he truly can't believe that he’s here again. He can’t believe that he’s letting himself fall so hard for this woman once more. But things feel so different.  _ Better _ . When she turns so that she’s facing him completely, no longer paying any attention to the twenty-foot tree before them, he knows there isn't anything in the world that could stop him from falling back into the maelstrom that is loving Emma Swan. 

She steps up onto her toes, her nose close to touching his, and threads her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His own hand and prosthetic find purchase on her hips over her large puffy parka as he tilts his head forward until their foreheads are touching. “I’ve really missed you,” she says, her breath warming his lips as it escapes her mouth. 

“Aye,” he whispers back. “Me too.” 

“You’ve missed yourself?” she jests. He laughs, although he thinks she has no idea how true her words are. 

“Perhaps.” 

She doesn’t answer verbally, choosing instead to lean a bit further onto her toes and press her lips gently to his. 

This kiss is unlike any they’ve ever shared. It’s unlike the last one because neither of their minds are altered by anything other than the presence of the other. It’s unlike all of the ones they shared during the year and a half they spent together, but he isn't sure why. 

She deepens the kiss and he lets her, her tongue sliding against his as she tilts her head. Her lips are soft and sweet like the hot chocolate she was drinking. Her teeth nip lightly on his bottom lip and he sighs into her mouth. Despite the fact that he knows this could very well destroy him, he feels at home. 

They kiss for several minutes, or perhaps it’s hours, before she pulls away from him and presses her forehead to his again, breathing heavily as her smile nearly touches his. To say he’s conflicted would be an understatement; every part of him wants to be with her in this moment, to forget the past and make things right with her. But the logical part, the part that his brother practically beat into him, tells him to run. 

But when she says, “do you want to get out of here?” there isn't a single part of him that wants to say no. 

“As it turns out, I have a lovely room that’s currently unoccupied.”

She hums as she laughs, rubbing her nose against his. “Isn’t that convenient?” 

They walk hand in hand to the inn, Emma standing behind him and melting effortlessly against his back as she wraps her arms around his middle. When they get inside, she walks to the small bedside table, picking up the half-empty bottle of rum, and he thinks the worst. 

It’s as if she hasn't heard a word he’s said all day. He quite literally quit drinking because of her, and if she offers him rum right now, he knows it will have to be over between them. He knows he would have to leave her now for his own good. 

He thinks of Liam's words telling him how bad they were together. How the fact that they never communicated was completely unhealthy, how their excessive alcohol consumption prevented them from having an adult relationship, how their reliance on physical expression made it impossible for them to have any sort of meaningful conversation. He thinks about how close he came to death because of how excessively he drank when she left him. He thinks these things and nearly says them. “Emma, I can’t.” 

But she interrupts. “I was just gonna throw this out. We don’t need it if you're sober, right? Is that okay? I don’t want to overstep.” 

He feels his shoulders sagging and drops his head back with a smile, relief washing over him. “Yes,” he finally breathes out. “Yes, please get rid of that.” His heart rate starts to go back to normal almost immediately. 

She smiles at him as she carries it to the adjoined bathroom, popping open the cork and ceremoniously pouring it into the toilet. She grins at him as she does so, and he smiles back, leaning on the jamb of the door and crossing his arms as he watches. She places the now empty bottle on the counter and turns to him, wiping her hands together three times as if to indicate that all is said and done. “There,” she says. 

“Thank you,” he tells her softly, still leaning against the doorframe. She steps towards him, getting close enough to where he can smell the mint of the candy cane she ate earlier, and wraps her arms around him. 

“I’m sorry about last night.” 

“You don’t need to apologize again, Swan. It was my decision.”

“Would you have bought that bottle if I hadn’t asked you to get drinks? Would you have ordered shots if I hadn’t ordered them for you?” 

He wants to lift his hand and scratch behind his ear, but she knows that’s his tell, so he wraps his arms around her in a hug and she lets him. “Probably not,” he murmurs sadly. 

“Then I apologize.” 

“You didn’t know.” 

She giggles against his chest, the air puffing from her nose stirring the hair she leans against. “You could’ve told me.” 

He shrugs. She sighs against him, squeezing once more before letting go and moving towards the bed to take a seat, patting a spot beside her. 

“We never could talk about things that mattered, could we?” he asks boldly. 

Her laugh is sad as she hugs her legs up to her chest, and he thinks she’s probably wishing she had a drink right about now. He wonders if she’s holding onto her legs to stop herself from running. “We weren’t  _ all _ bad.” 

“No,” he agrees. “But we weren’t all good either. What we had, Emma, it wasn’t healthy. I see that now.” 

“Then why would you want to see me? Why would you say yes when I asked you to get a drink?” Her tone isn’t necessarily accusatory, per se, but he can see that she’s hurt by him saying that they weren’t right for each other. 

“I don’t know,” he answers with a dejected tone. 

Emma scoffs, shaking her head as she stands from the bed enthusiastically enough to send Killian bouncing. “So it was a bad relationship because  _ I  _ never communicated, but I ask you one question and you don’t have an answer.” 

“Don’t do that,” he starts, though he isn’t sure where he’s going. 

“Do what?! Try to actually have a conversation with you? Killian, you told me that you wanted to work on things because we never communicated.You told me you were serious about us, and instead of putting in the work, I left. I’m sorry for that. But now I’m here and I’m trying and you just don’t see that!” 

“I do see that!” It’s true. It may not have been long since he ran into her, but he can see the changes in her from a mile away. 

“Then talk to me! There’s a reason you said yes to drinks with me even though you’re sober, just tell me what it is. Why would you do that if you knew you would be hurting yourself?”

“I didn’t want to lose the chance to see you!” 

“That’s ridiculous,” she chastises, rolling her eyes, and he stands now too. 

“It’s because I never got over you. I saw you randomly in the streets after you basically destroyed me and I knew instantly that if I had the chance to be with you again I would take it.” Her face has fallen and she looks so sad and lost that it pains him. “When I saw you last night, I knew I never stopped loving you, no matter how fucked up we were. If I’d said no, I’d never have forgiven myself.” 

She’s frozen. He is too. “You love me?” she asks. 

“Aye.” 

She’s crying. He is too. She wipes at a tear trailing down her cheek and sniffles hard. “After all this time?” 

“I didn’t realize how bad we were while I was in it. After you left me, I basically got my ass handed to me by my brother and he helped me to see how toxic we were.” 

“Toxic,” she repeats. 

“Yes, Emma. All we did was drink and fuck and argue. We never  _ talked.  _ Not about the stuff that mattered.” 

“I tried,” she says. “I really did try for you, Killian. You were always just so… so  _ connected  _ and you were always saying these profound things to me and about me, and I couldn’t handle it.” 

“Why didn’t you just say that, then?” 

“I didn’t know how!” 

“So instead you left? Just up and leave one morning without a word? One fight and we were done?” 

“There was a lot more than one fight.” 

“None of the others mattered. They were over stupid, meaningless shit. The one time I tried to get you to work on  _ us  _ you ran off to Phoenix.” 

“That was a bad move,” she admits. 

“Then why did you do it?! Why would you do that to me?” 

She chokes out a soft sob, dropping onto the bed and letting her face fall into her hands. He feels regretful for making her so upset, but he must admit that there’s a certain catharsis in letting this out three years later. 

“I didn’t know how to handle how much I loved you. No one has ever talked to me like that, not before or since. And I thought, if my own parents couldn’t love me enough to even keep me, then you couldn’t possibly either. So a part of me never really believed you. Every time you would say that you loved me, I could tell myself you didn’t mean it.” She sniffles again, blowing her nose into a tissue before continuing. He takes the opportunity to sit beside her once more. “Then that night, you were so honest. You just kept saying how badly you wanted a future with me and how desperately you wanted to make things work between us. And I thought I had done a good job of keeping you at arm's length so that that wouldn’t happen, but I guess I didn’t. And I couldn’t believe I had done that to you. I thought you couldn’t possibly have had a happy future with me.”

“Emma,” he says, hoping to argue with her but desperately unsure of what to say. “How can you say that?” 

She shakes her head, still crying although he’s managed to stop his own tears. “I tried, Killian, really. I tried so hard to let you love me the way you wanted to, but I just thought you deserved so much better.”

“ _ You _ deserve to be loved, Emma.” 

She sighs, hugging herself around the waist. “It’s been really hard for me to see that,” she says softly, almost weakly. 

“I love you,” he says. “Every part of you. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s true. I only wanted to help you see that.” 

“All I did was push you away,” she chokes. 

“Aye, that made things rather difficult for me,” he laughs. “And I’ll admit that I ran out of patience and had to insist that we open up to each other. And I’m sorry that you weren’t ready then, but I don’t regret it. I regret losing you, every day, but I don’t regret saying what I did.”

She looks up at him through long, tear-filled lashes and barely smiles. “I know.” 

They sit in a soft silence for a moment, the remnants of what was exchanged between them comfortably heavy in the air. Finally she turns to him, still holding a scrunched up tissue covered in her black makeup, and says, “can I tell you about Phoenix?” 

He scratches behind his ear, unsure if he wants to hear about the things she got up to after leaving him behind, but says, “sure, Swan.” 

Her breath catches in her throat and she smiles at him. “No one has called me that in three years.” He chuckles back at her, smiling and unsure of what to say. He likes this, him sitting here beside her while she talks to him. It’s different, and exactly what he needed all those years ago. “It was miserable. I was so unhappy, I don’t even know why I went. I got a shitty job as a waitress, I barely made enough to support myself, and I missed you so much it hurt.”

“I missed you too.” 

She takes his hand and continues on. “Eventually I met this asshole who I thought was good for me, but I kept comparing him to you and I couldn’t get over it. A couple weeks ago he did something really stupid, stole some watches, and I got the hell out of there.” 

“So where have you been for the last few weeks?” 

“Here,” she shrugs. “Waiting for the baby, using that as an excuse to avoid my problems.” 

He chuckles, unfortunately understanding what she means. “Well, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you there. Never did get that job as a cop you wanted, did you?” 

“No,” she hums sadly. “I guess there’s still time.” 

“Aye.” 

“Can you tell me about Boston? While I was gone?” 

“Ah,” he starts, scratching behind his ear and earning a smile from her. “Wasn’t all that great. I started drinking more after you left. I joined the navy full time, then dad finally died, and even though I hated the bastard, I started drinking even more. Then I got to the point where I had to have something in me to even make it to work, and one day I crushed my hand so badly they couldn’t save it. Basically went through withdrawal while I was in the hospital. Liam moved here with Elsa, I got discharged, and then rest is history.” 

She’s silent for a moment, taking in a deep breath before she says, “Christ.” 

“Aye.” 

“I guess neither of us really got our shit together, huh?” 

He laughs again. “At one point I thought I had, but then I ran into this woman in the street and suddenly things just started going mad again.” 

“Hmm,” she hums lightly, scooting over towards him on the bed. “What a bitch.” 

He shrugs. “She’s not so bad now that I’ve had a chance to talk to her.” 

“Ha ha,” she fakes. But before she can say anything more to him, she’s perching herself close to him and taking his left arm in her hands, gently stroking up and down the remaining flesh under his shirt. “Are you okay?” 

He knows she’s referring to the hand he lost, probably to all the other things he went through as well. He nods, taking the opportunity to lean towards her and meet her forehead with his. “It was a while ago. Over two years now. I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry that it happened to you. And that you lost your dad.” 

“Thank you.” 

Before he knows what hit him, she’s kissing him. She presses one soft kiss to his mouth and pulls back, as if asking permission to go on, as if he could ever resist her. He’s kissing her back, placing a hand on her hips once she gets into his lap and running his arm up and down along her spine, wishing he could feel her against his fingertips again. 

They remain in that position, her hips atop his and her fingers in his hair, for more time than he can keep track of. It doesn’t go any further, they simply enjoy each other as they get to know one another’s mouths again. If he thought he missed her before, he was a fool. 

Once they break apart, he moves his arms so his hand slides up into her hair, pulling her into a tight hug and pressing their chests together until he can breathe again. They’re silent for another few minutes as they hold each other, trying to catch their breath. Her nose is pressed into his neck and he can feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. His nose is tucked into her hair and he can smell her familiar shampoo, fruit and mint mixed together. 

“I’m tired,” she finally says. “I know it’s not that late, but can we go to bed?”

“I have rather missed sleeping beside you.” 

“I haven’t really slept in three years.” 

“Well,” he starts, moving to remove his shoes and grab his pajamas from his suitcase. “Lie down, Swan, and we’ll make sure you sleep soundly tonight. Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?” 

“Yes please,” she smiles. “Did you bring face wash?” 

“Of course, it’s in the bathroom.” 

As they get ready for bed together, easily slipping back into the routine, he tries not to stare at her ass in his t-shirt, covered only by her cotton underwear. Once they’ve slid into bed, she slots herself up against him, one leg hitching over his hips as her arm hugs around his waist. He isn’t sure about her, but he sleeps like a rock for the first time in ages. 

~~~~ 

When he wakes to her still clinging to him, he grins. At first, he can’t believe that she’s still here, but when he remembers their conversation, it makes sense. As much as he wants to tell himself that she could still take his heart again and run with it, he doesn’t believe it. 

He detangles himself from her grasp, careful not to wake her, and stands to stretch. Once he gets out of the shower, he changes into a shirt and jeans and leaves her a note, telling her that he has to check in with Liam and asking her to meet him at the diner after. 

When he finally gets to Liam's house, his brother exits his front door in a rage, marching down the front steps and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. “Where the bloody hell have you been?” 

“Good morning to you, too, brother,” Killian jests lightly, removing his hand from his coat. “I came to apologize.” 

He scoffs. “You haven’t answered a single call or text, you don’t show up for the festival like we planned, what were you thinking?” 

“I was busy.” 

“And you could have told me you wouldn’t be home for dinner. Elsa made extra just for you!” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Wait… did you say you were  _ busy?” _

Killian smirks, stepping aside from Liam towards the house to let himself in. “Aye.” 

“Tell me it’s not her, little brother.” 

“ _ Younger _ .”

“ _ Killian _ .” 

“You mean you knew she was here?” he asks as he turns from the door, releasing the handle before he can get inside. 

Liam sighs and moves Killian out of his way so that he can slip inside first. “Yes, I thought it may have been her when she arrived. As you know, she never wanted to meet me, so it was hard to determine from the pictures alone. But I remembered you saying she had a brother, and I knew David’s sister was in town.” 

“Bloody hell,” he says as he follows his brother into the kitchen. He’s offered a coffee but he refuses. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because, brother, think of who you were when you were with her. I didn’t want you going back to that place.” 

“That’s not your concern.” 

“You nearly  _ died  _ when she left you! How is that not my concern?” 

Killian sighs, taking a seat on the stool at the countertop. He knows his brother is right, and that they still have more that they need to address, but he feels good about their conversation last night. He especially feels good about the fact that it was Emma who initiated it. “We’re both in a better place,” he starts. 

“Well, you’re down one hand. What has she lost?”

“Liam,” he warns. “My reaction to her leaving is not her fault. I was the foolish one.” 

“And I’m sure she agrees that it’s all your fault?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve had a conversation about this already.” 

Liam laughs condescendingly and says, “really? Emma Swan had a conversation with you.” 

“She initiated it.” 

He’s quiet. A quiet Liam is almost never good… it means he’s thinking. 

“I know you love her,” he starts. “But watching you the last time… well, it nearly ended me to see you go through that.”

“I know, brother.”

“I don't want to see you go through that again.” 

“I don’t want to go through it again.”

They speak a bit more, mostly Liam talking at Killian about how concerned he is.But finding out that Emma was the one to reach out and take the first steps must have been encouraging to him. It was to Killian. 

Almost an hour later, Killian finally leaves, just before he’d asked Emma to meet him at the diner, and makes his way down Main Street. It’s finally stopped snowing, and now that it’s Sunday morning and the fame-garnering festivities have ended, the town seems a bit quieter. He takes the gentle calm as a good sign. If nothing else, it’s finally showing him that perhaps this sleepy village isn’t as bad as he’d once thought.

He sees Emma sitting at the counter when he arrives, happy to see that she’s taken him up on his offer. But when he begins to walk over to her, something is off. The man seated beside her is sitting a bit too close, and he doesn't just think that because he’s fallen back into his tendency to be protective of her. When he takes hold of her arm forcefully and she tries to back away, Killian rushes towards her. 

“Neal, I said stop! Get off me!” 

He thinks of nothing but getting to her, grabbing the man by the shoulder and throwing him off the stool he’d occupied. She shouts when he does so, and he rushes to her to take her cheek in his hand and brush his prosthetic over her tousled hair. “Are you alright?” he asks, brushing a tear from her cheek. 

“I’m fine,” she says shakily, letting out a breath in a sob. “I’m okay.” 

He can only console her for so long before the man, Neal, grabs him by his own shoulder and yanks him away from Emma. He swings towards Killian and strikes his cheek, so he shoves his shoulder into the man’s gut until he falls and collides his own fist to his jaw. 

He hears Emma shout his name, but whatever happens next is a blur to him. He doesn't stay on top of the man who attacked her, rising quickly to get away from him and standing in front of her in hopes of protecting her. 

He forgets that her brother is the damn sheriff. It’s a small town, of course someone calls. 

When he arrives, Emma tells him what's happened, blaming it on Neal and explaining that Killian was protecting her. David takes a statement from the both of them, then arrests Neal, leaving Killian with only a threatening look that he assumes means  _ watch yourself around my sister _ . It’s not unlike the looks he gave him almost five years ago when he and Emma first began their relationship. 

After all is said and done, Emma gets him ice from the kitchen and tenderly places it on his throbbing cheek. She apologizes relentlessly for getting him involved, as if he wouldn’t choose to do the same thing again and again. “It’s fine, love,” he tells her. “I’m alright.” 

“This is all my fault.” 

“No, Swan,” he insists, placing his hand on her cheek and brushing some hair behind her ear. “Don’t say that.” 

She leans into his hand, soothed by his touch, and says, “let me bring you to your room. You don’t want to be out here with everyone watching.” 

He finally gets his bearings back on his way up the stairs, the stars behind his eyes fading away and the feeling of her hand in his grounding him. She takes the keys from his pocket, struggling slightly to open the door with her shaky hands, so he rests his chin on her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to her check and neck. 

Once they’re inside, she pulls him to the bed and sits him down beside her. “That was my ex,” she tells him, pressing the glove filled with ice back against his cheek. He flinches away from the cold against his flaming skin and she apologizes once more. “He found me, I don’t know how. But he’s mad that I left him while he was fencing the watches he stole. He was scared I was gonna turn him in.” 

“Well, he did a nice job of getting himself arrested, then.” 

She chuckles, leaning close to him and pressing a soft kiss to the uninjured cheek. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Thank you. For just… I mean, we were in a public place and I know nothing could've happened, but… I don’t know. As messed up as it sounds, it felt good knowing you were there for me.”

“‘Course I am. Always.” 

She runs her long fingers through his hair lightly, soothingly, and he leans his head against her hand. 

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He opens his eyes to look at her once again, urging her to go on. “I’m in therapy.” 

He smiles brightly at her and she returns it. “Are you?” It explains enough, her willingness to be open with him especially. 

“Yeah. I started about a year after we… after I left you. It’s been going really well.” 

“That’s wonderful, darling.”

“Yeah. And, uh, it’s made me realize some things. Like… like how you’re right, I pushed you away because I didn’t think I was worthy of love. And how being abandoned affected, like, every aspect of my life. But mostly my ability to… be vulnerable with the people I love.” 

He nods his head, leaning back so that he can sit against the headboard. It’s only around 10, but he’s exhausted. “That makes sense, Swan. I’m glad it’s working out for you.”

“My point is,” she continues as if she didn’t hear him, likely because she desperately wants to get her point across. “My point is that… you’re one of those people. Just like you said everything changed when you saw me, it was the same for me. The second I saw you I knew that I— that I never stopped...” 

She’s practically spitting the words out, but it’s so much more than she was willing to do three years ago. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. I always have, I think I always will. And you were right. We weren’t good for each other back then because I was horribly closed off and you deserved someone who would open up to you. But I’ve worked on myself and now, well, now I want to work on us, if you still want that.” He grins at her admission and leans forward to press a kiss to her lips. “And one other thing.”

He backs away just slightly so that she can speak, but isn’t willing to go far. “What’s that?” he whispers. 

“I have an interview after Christmas for a position on a police force. I’d just be beat cop but… I’m gonna go for it.” 

He laughs and backs away some more because it’s all he can do. He’s happy for her, of course. She’s following her dreams. But he’s also heartbroken to hear that she plans to plant roots in Phoenix. 

“That’s fantastic news, love. I’m glad to hear you’ll be following the path you set for yourself.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “But you missed the best part.”

“What’s that?” 

“The job is in Quincy.” 

He’s frozen. “Quincy? That’s—”

“Like, 20 minutes outside of Boston.” 

“ _ Really? _ ”

“Yeah, I checked a map myself.” 

He breaks out of his stupor to laugh, suddenly appreciative of her ability to make light of their situation now that she’s shown her willingness to be open with him. He’s in awe of the steps she says she’s taking. Of course there’s still more to discuss, but her admission has given him something he hasn't had in quite some time: hope. 

“I know we haven’t talked about this,” she says in almost a whisper. “But I haven't been happy in Phoenix. I was hoping to move back to Boston soon anyway. And then when I ran into you… Killian, I'm…” she inhales deeply, smiling at him softly before saying, “I want to try again. Really try.” 

Every time he thought of her over the last three years, he felt broken and saddened, and yet he still had love for her. Whenever he thought about their relationship and how bad it really was, there was still always a part of him that would have taken her back. Each time he had these thoughts, he knew they were outrageous because he would have needed her to tell him that that’s what she wanted too, that she was willing to work with him to make their relationship something  _ good. _

He never dreamed he would actually hear those words from her mouth. 

“You’re serious?” he asks, completely dumbfounded by her once more. 

“Yeah, I mean… if that’s something you would want.” 

Without a second thought, he says, “yes. Yes, Emma,” he laughs. “I always would have taken you back. I always would have and I always thought that would be a horrible idea because I didn't think it would work, but now you’re…” 

“I want to make it work.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief, standing and moving towards her so that he can scoop her into his arms and hug her so tightly that he lifts her from the mattress. Her laughter rings through his ears joyously, a sound of which he thinks he’ll never tire. “Bloody hell, woman,” he says against her neck. “You've really put me through the ringer this weekend.” 

She giggles again, tucking her nose against his pulse and planting a kiss there. “We all need a little drama around the holidays.” 

“You’ve certainly delivered.” He releases her a bit so he can look into her eyes, brushing some fallen hair from her face and planting a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You're really moving back to Boston?” 

She nods. “The only thing keeping me in Phoenix was my therapist,” she tells him with a laugh. “I can get a new one of those.” 

He breathes out in disbelief once more. “I’m very proud of you, you know. All this time I wanted you back but I never thought you would want to put in the work. Not just for us, but for yourself. I’m glad you started seeing someone, love. You deserve to love yourself the way I love you.” 

With a smile that seems to never fade, she touches her fingers to his cheek, the one with the bruise forming, and nods her head. “I’m glad I ran into you this weekend. Pretty life-altering.” 

“One might consider it a Christmas miracle.” 

With a laugh, she takes his hand and says, “yeah. Now come on, I need breakfast.” 

They spend the day together again, this time neither of them timid around the other and freely touching and kissing one another. He can’t get enough of her. He’s sure the patrons of the small diner are sick of them reaching across the table to hold hands throughout their entire meal. Well, Emma holds his prosthetic, but the concept is the same, and she doesn't seem to mind. They talk about Christmas and New Years and life when they go back to Boston. They talk about their schedules and when they'll have time to see one another. She tells him she plans to start looking for apartments as soon as she can. She’ll stay with her brother and help with the baby until she finds one.

She gets a call from the sheriff after they've finished their breakfast, more like lunch given the time, and is informed that her nephew is on his way. She tells him that she’s going to meet him at the hospital and asks if her  _ boyfriend _ can come, too. 

The baby is quite cute, as newborn babies go, but what’s cuter is the look on her face when she holds him for the first time. 

Killian sits in the waiting room to call Liam while she sits with her brother and sister-in-law, and he asks him to come by for Christmas Eve dinner. He also tells him that he should bring Emma along, and he hopes that she’ll agree. When they were last together, she was too afraid to meet his family. But when he brings it up to her once she’s finished visiting, she happily agrees. 

Emma gets along beautifully with Elsa, and Killian can see that Liam really does try to give her a chance. Christmas Eve is special not only because he gets to spend it with the people he loves, but also because Elsa surprises all of them by revealing her pregnancy. When Liam finds out he’s to be a father, he cries. 

With a promise to return for Christmas morning, they head out and back to his room at the inn, Emma claiming that the only gift she wants for Christmas is to spend the morning with him. 

“So,” he says once they’re seated in the lobby with a fire roaring before them. “I’m your boyfriend?” 

She hums, as if considering this, and nonchalantly says, “I guess so,” as she takes his hand and pressed a kiss to his bruised knuckles. 

They sleep with her back against his chest, her hips wiggling into his every so often driving him mad with desire. But there’s an unspoken agreement between them to wait before being physical with each other again. The last time, sex was something they used to distract themselves from the things that were going wrong in their relationship. This time around, he wants it to be something more. He wants it to be about them and how much they mean to each other. 

He can tell that she’s sleeping as her breathing shallows, and he reaches his hand onto her hip to hold her a bit tighter. When he does, she takes his hand and pulls him over her so that every part of them is touching. It’s perfect. 

~~~~

When he wakes on Christmas morning, he’s alone. She’s tossed the sheets away so that they were folded over on top of him, and when he reaches for her pillow, it’s gone cold. 

A part of him panics. Could she really leave him again? The last time, he woke and she was gone, leaving only a note that said ‘ _ I can’t, I’m so sorry’ _ . This time, there’s no note, and he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. 

The difference now is that he isn’t as worried as he could be. Sure, she isn’t here, but he trusts her more now after just two days than he thinks he did for much of their relationship three years ago. So when he collapses back onto the bed, slightly worried, he finds himself also embraced by a sense of unexpected calm. 

She’s opening the door just a few moments later, and he knows his face brightens by several shades once he sees her carrying a tray of drinks and pastries. A bear claw for her and a donut for him, plus a coffee and what he’s sure is a hot chocolate. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to convince Granny to sell these to me.” 

He sits up in bed slightly, reaching his arm behind his head as he grins at her. “Happy Christmas, Swan.” 

She places the tray on the table beside the bed and tosses her shoes off before climbing into bed and onto his lap, her legs straddling his. “ _ Merry _ Christmas.” 

“There are some things you just won’t be able to change, my love.” 

“That’s alright,” she laughs, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I like you the way you are.” 

It’s enough, he thinks. It’s perfect. 


	2. The Love Light Keeps Gleaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Killian spend their first Valentine's Day back together, and it doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This addition is rated E for smut!!

Emma Swan does not like a cliche. 

She’s always hated Valentine’s Day, even when she and Killian were dating the last time, and that hasn’t changed now that they’re back together. Honestly, she just hates the way pink and red look together. 

Killian tried celebrating Valentine’s Day with her the first year they were dating, and she hated it. He took her to a dimly lit, outrageously expensive restaurant and held her hand while they waited for dinner. He ordered a bottle of champagne she knew he couldn’t afford. He told her he loved her for the first time and she panicked. 

But she’s a different person now. She’s been working on healing from the trauma she’d endured as a child. She’s finally found a new therapist in Boston with whom she feels completely comfortable. She’s dating the most incredible man she could imagine. Again. 

She isn’t a fan of a cliche. But she is a fan of Killian, and she surprises herself by being disappointed in the way he’s handling the stupid holiday. 

He wakes her as if it’s just another Friday, shaking her gently and telling her she’ll be late for work if she sleeps any longer. He brews her coffee right after his own while she’s in the shower, and he leaves the milk out for her cereal. He gives her a kiss on her forehead before he heads for the door, and it’s so normal, so like any other day, that she stops him before he leaves. 

“Are we doing anything tonight? Dinner?” she asks him, and he cocks his head to one side. 

“I suppose eating is always a good idea.”

Her eyes find the back of her lids as she rolls them dramatically. “You mean you don’t have any special plans to  _ get _ dinner?”

He purses his lips and draws his brows together thoughtfully, as if he has no idea what she’s talking about; and shakes his head. “I’m happy to make plans with you,” he offers. 

With a huff, she says, “no, forget it. See you after work.” 

They don’t live together, not technically, but Emma’s small studio apartment in Quincy is almost always vacant. He gave her a key in the middle of January, not even two weeks after she moved back from Storybrooke, and she hasn’t really left since. They split the grocery bill each week, they do laundry together on Sunday’s, and they cook together almost every night. So, while this is technically his apartment and she is technically quite irritated with him, she knows she’ll be making the extra 30 minute commute to return here rather than her own place. 

“Morning,” her sheriff, Graham, calls as she walks to her desk. “Any big plans for tonight?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, dropping herself onto her cheap desk chair dramatically. “Apparently not.” 

Graham chuckles. “That doesn’t sound good. Is someone in trouble?” 

With a sigh, she shakes her head. It isn’t fair of her to be angry with Killian after the tongue lashing she gave him the last time he tried to celebrate. She told him, selfishly, about how embarrassing it was for her when he made such a big deal out of Valentine’s Day, and so publicly. What she really meant, what she couldn’t say, was that it was too scary and overwhelming to hear him tell her that he loved her. 

She’s moved past those fears, though. 

“No,” she finally answers. “I think he’s doing what he thinks is best.” 

“Best?” 

When Emma first started working for Graham, Killian was undeniably jealous. He’s flirty by nature, in a way that could rival Killian’s own personality, and with the insecurities that come with a new relationship that failed in the past, he was worried. It took a few honest conversations between them, a lot of hard work and trust, for him to feel more comfortable, but she understands. Once Graham introduced her to his boyfriend, August, Killian felt better. 

It was ridiculous for him to be jealous, but it was the way he felt and she had to respect that. It was the first hardship that they had to conquer in their new relationship, and she’s proud of the way they did it. The fact that Graham happens to be gay was just an added bit of reassurance. 

“He’s just doing what he thinks will make me happy based on the last time we were together,” she explains. Graham has been one of her best friends since she’s moved here, and she’s found it very easy to share nearly every aspect of her life with him. 

“Is it?”

With a sad smile, she shakes her head and says, “things are different now. We’ve grown so much since then.” 

He nods understandingly. “Take it from someone who’s dating a person exactly like you; you’re gonna have to talk to him about that. I’m sure he doesn’t want to make a misstep.”

She snorts. “And what, light the fuse to the Emma bomb?” 

He laughs too, nodding, and says, “exactly.”

Killian calls her during his lunch break, while she’s working on her reports. It’s been a slow week, so she’s had plenty of time to catch up on the boring part of her job. “Hey,” she greets when she sees his name and face flash over her screen. 

“Hi, love. How’s work?”

“Okay,” she smiles. He calls her almost every day, as long as he’s able to take a break. Each time he does, he’s clearly exhausted from the hard work he’s doing as a financial advisor in the Navy (she thinks…) but he still takes the time to check in with her and have brief, sweet conversations. “Lots of paperwork. You?”

“Same,” he sighs. “Busy, but it’s almost the weekend.”

“Yeah.” 

“Swan?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” 

She grins widely, barely able to stop herself from giggling into the phone. “Yes,” she confirms jovially. “Of course.” 

“Yes,” he hisses triumphantly in a way that makes her laugh out loud. He laughs along with her and says, “when will you be home?”

“Around 6,” she answers. “Maybe dinner at 7? Do you think that’s possible?” she asks, concerned about the chances of getting a dinner reservation on Valentine’s Day, on a Friday night, in Boston. 

“Of course, love,” he confirms. “Anything you want. I’ll need to get back to work, but I’ll see you at home, alright?” 

“Alright.”

“I love you,” he vows, and it sends a shiver through her. She can’t imagine ever not feeling this way when he says those words. 

“I love you, too.”

~~~~

“Killian!” She calls as she closes the door. “I’m home.” It isn’t strange for her to announce her presence like this, and it isn’t strange for her to consider herself home in Killian’s apartment. What’s strange is his lack of response. “Killian?”

“Hey,” he says, out of breath as he quickly rounds the corner from the kitchen, obviously hiding something, which makes her furrow her brow. 

“Hi. What are you doing?”

He scratches behind his ear, still leaning around the corner and not fully stepping out of the kitchen. “Ah, why don’t you go and get ready?” 

“Okay…” she says tentatively, placing her things on the dining table and starting towards him. Before she can get too close to the entrance of the kitchen, he hurries out and meets her with a kiss, not allowing her any further. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” he grins. “Hurry up, now.”

“What time is our reservation?” 

He cocks his head, making a thoughtful face, and says, “we don’t have a reservation.”

Her heart sinks into her stomach, her face falling and her shoulders sagging. “You didn’t make a reservation?”

He looks concerned, like he knows he’s done something to upset her, and shakes his head. “No.”

Emma rolls her eyes and lets out a heaving sigh, turning away from him angrily. “Shit, Killian. How are we supposed to go to dinner if you didn’t make a reservation? It’s  _ Valentine’s Day!  _ It’s a Friday night in Boston! Why did you bother asking me if you weren’t going to make a damn reservation?”

The guilt sets in almost instantly as she shouts at him. She knows she shouldn’t be as upset as she is. He’s doing all that he can to read her, to make her happy, and she sees that each day. He realized so quickly this morning that getting dinner tonight was something she wanted to do, and she was so excited. She was ready to take this step with him, the meaning behind a night out clear in showing how much their relationship has changed from the last time. She wonders what it means that this is going so badly. 

“Emma—” 

She cuts him off. While she knows he meant no harm and that he was excited for a date with her, while she knows that she’s being irrational, she can’t hear an excuse without becoming angrier. “Just,” she starts, huffing and turning away from him. “Obviously we aren’t gonna be able to do anything tonight. Why don’t you just get back to whatever the hell you were doing.” 

She storms away, closing the door to the bedroom with too much force. Her reaction is ridiculous; she knows this. She shouldn’t be holding this against him. But the idea of having a romantic date on Valentine’s Day, one she knows would’ve gone so well when the last went so poorly, was a chance for them— for  _ her—  _ to prove that it’s different this time. They aren’t fighting constantly, she isn’t pushing him away when he tries to get closer. She isn’t using sex as a way to avoid talking about the important things. 

In fact, she isn’t using sex at all. They haven’t been together in that capacity since their relationship began again. 

They’ve been intimate, some pretty mind numbing make out sessions having taken place between them, but they both agreed that it would be a good idea to wait before they took that step. They want to build a strong foundation before they engage in an activity that they used so unhealthily the last time. Maybe she’s so worked up because she’s horny; she knows what he’s capable of making her feel, after all. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, collapsing on the bed and thrusting her fingers into her hair. She really wanted the chance to show him that things are different this time, and she blew it. 

He gives her a few more minutes before letting the door slowly creak open, poking his head in timidly. He gives her a gentle smile when his eyes meet hers, and she feels even worse. “Swan?”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, covering her face with her hands again. 

He walks into the room, sitting on the bed beside her and sighing. “It’s alright. I’m sorry too.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“I should’ve been more clear.”

She moves her hands, looking at him quizzically. “What?”

With a smile, he tells her, “I should’ve been more clear about dinner.” 

“What are you talking about?” she breathes with an air of irritation. 

“Would you just come with me, you absolutely maddening thing?”

“Killian!” she shouts, although she can’t fight the smile that quirks at her lips. “What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes and groans, grabbing at her hand and hoisting her off of the bed until she’s standing. “Come,” he insists. 

He pulls her out of the bedroom and down the hall until they’re standing side by side, hand in hand, staring at the table. 

The lights are off, the room lit only by a pair of long, white candles sitting on the table. The surface is littered with red rose petals, the wine glasses filled and the plates covered with a delicious looking dinner of steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Her favorite meal. 

“Killian…”

He kisses her temple and says, “happy Valentine’s Day, my love.” 

She breathes out a sigh, perhaps in relief, and turns towards him, placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him in for a heated kiss. She lets her fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly and drawing a soft groan from him as his hand finds its place at the small of her back. “I love you,” she says into his kiss, her tongue drawing a line against his slightly parting lips. 

He hums softly against her mouth and says, “aye?”

Nodding, refusing to break from his kiss, she agrees, “aye,” before pushing him back down the hall towards the bedroom. “Sorry for being an asshole.”

“You’re not—” she presses him to the wall just before the open door and he squeezes her hip. “Swan?”

“I want you,” she says without thinking. “I love you so much; I want to be with you.”

He lets her kiss him a bit more before separating them just slightly and saying, “dinner’s going to get cold.”

With a groan as he squeezes the flesh of her rear, she says, “I’ll reheat it.”

He’s practically growling as he overpowers her and steps forward until he can push her back against the wall opposite the one she had him against. “Are you sure, love?”

She moans when his lips leave hers and trail across her jaw, landing just below her ear and sucking a bruise into her skin. “Yes,” she breathes. “I want you.”

“I love you,” he tells her, pulling away and looking at her with passion in his eyes. “So much, Emma.” 

“I love you,” she nods. “It’s different now. Things are… they’re better. We’re better. Healthier.”

“Yes,” he nods. “I know. I feel it too.” 

She’s practically panting as she says, “I want to show you how much I love you. I want to do this  _ because  _ I love you. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

He fuses their lips back together, nodding as he does so, conveying to her what she already knows. His tongue tangles with hers easily before his hand and prosthetic find their way below her ass and hoist her up into his arms, her heating core pressing to the zipper of his jeans. He’s carrying her to the bed without breaking the kiss, fueling the fire between them. 

Dropping her to the bed, he slowly crawls over her seductively in a way that sends a ripple of shivers through her whole body. She’s gripping his strong triceps firmly as his hand kneads her breast until he draws a lewd moan from her lips. He breaks from her mouth and starts tracing kisses down her jaw to her throat, nipping and licking her skin until her hips start canting towards his own. 

She moans again, this time letting his name fall from her lips as her eyes roll backwards. “Fuck,” she breathes, his teeth sinking into the flesh of her collarbone. “God, fuck.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his lips and hitting her skin. “Been a while, aye, Swan?”

“Too long,” she agrees. “I haven’t had a...” She can’t bring herself to finish the thought. It feels wrong talking about someone else when they’re in this position. 

“What’s that, my love?” he asks, pulling from her and making eye contact. 

“Just,” she starts. Her blush heats her skin and she looks away for a moment. “When I was with someone else… I couldn’t ever… I mean, with you, it was always perfect. Even when we were fighting, it felt so perfect. But with other people… I couldn’t.” 

He raises a brow, pushing his clothed hips against hers for a moment and dragging a sigh from her lips. “Why, Swan, are you saying you haven’t had a single orgasm in the entire time we were apart?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes, but he rolls his hips against hers again and she gasps. “Of course I have. Just,” she moans loudly as he licks along her pulse point and squeezes her breast at the same time. “Not by anyone else.” 

“Just you?” he asks with growing interest as he pulls her shirt above her head. She nods. “That’s hot.”

“No one knows me like you do,” she promises him. 

He captures her mouth with his in haste, pulling her as close to himself as he’s able. She finds it unfair that he’s gotten her shirt off and he’s still fully clothed, so she tugs at the hem of his button down until he breaks from her and pulls it over his head before fusing them back together. Her fingers dig into his broad shoulders, appreciating the definition that’s subtle, not overwhelming. 

His lips trail down her neck again, landing at the top of her bra and licking against her heated skin. His lips press to the spot that he knows her hardened nipple lies under the fabric and she thrusts her hips towards his as she moans. She feels the vibration of him chuckling against her and she sits up to unhook her bra, freeing her sensitive breasts and letting him continue the assault of his tongue. 

He drops his mouth below her breasts, dragging it down her stomach, licking lightly into her belly button, and breathing hotly against her core over her jeans until she moans again. “Touch me,” she begs through a whisper. “Please.” 

Biting the soft flesh of her exposed hip, he undoes the button expertly and pulls her jeans down her thighs, tossing them to the floor so that all she wears now is a pair of underwear. She may have changed into something sexier if she’d known what they would be up to, but she doesn’t care. She knows he loves her, whether she wears red lace or old cotton. 

The warmth of his breath over the fabric makes her shudder, and he kisses her core, letting her arousal soak through. Her fingers dig into his hair instantly as she lets out a mewling cry, her center throbbing at the thought of his talented tongue doing what it does best against her sensitive flesh. “Fuck,” she moans. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against her before he licks along the dampened fabric. “I love you.”

She wants to respond with now much she loves him, too, but words fail her as his fingers push the cotton aside and dip into her flooded folds, dragging moisture up towards her pulsing clit. All she can do is nod and pull on his hair. 

He growls, and it’s as if he can’t stand to have the barrier between them anymore as he roughly tugs her underwear down her legs. She cries out a moan as he does it, and props herself up onto her elbows so she can get a good look at him. Instantly, he draws a thick strip through her folds with his wet tongue and they both groan in unison. 

The way he licks through her so expertly, like he’s been doing this his whole life, makes her cry out and pull tighter on his hair. It doesn’t take long, not more than a few minutes of him licking and sucking and moaning against her, before he slides two fingers into her center and she squeezes around him instantly. It’s fast, the way he can bring her to the breaking point unlike anything she’s ever experienced. It’s incredible to her how well he knows her. 

She’s squeezing her thighs around his head in record breaking time, the muscles in her belly contracting forcefully as she writhes under his touch. She feels and hears him mumbling into her as she crests over the wave of her orgasm, crashing down over him with a force she isn’t used to and hasn’t experienced in the years they’ve been apart. She’s almost embarrassed to admit that she feels a tear spring to her eye as she shouts out for him, pushing his head closer to where she needs him as she rides out her high. 

He presses wet kisses into her skin as he crawls up her body, his fingers tickling her sensitive skin until their lips meet and she can taste the combination of his mouth and her arousal on his tongue. It’s something he used to do when they were together; she suspects that he enjoys letting her experience what he does, and she finds it so undeniably hot that she’s squeezing her legs together again almost instantly. 

“Swan,” he says against her mouth as she undoes the button of his jeans. It’s like he has nothing to say; like he just wants to ensure that it’s real and she’s real and they’re  _ here  _ again. 

She pushes his pants over his rear as far as she can reach before he pulls away and tugs them the rest of the way. His cock springs up, sandwiching itself between them and making her moan as she feels its contours. She pants and moans at the feel of him back against her, and he seems just as breathless as she is. He drags the tip through her folds erotically, both of them groaning in unison at how wet and warm she was. “You’re ready, aren’t you love?” he asks against her neck. “Always ready for me.”

“Always,” she breathes in confirmation. “Killian, please,” she whispers. 

“Are you still on the pill?”

She nods, biting the soft flesh of his neck and scratching her fingers along the backs of his shoulders as he aligns himself to her. He drags himself through her soaking core once more before using his hand to guide the tip into her entrance, stretching her easily and sliding through the tightened muscles of her center. She lifts both hands into his hair, pulling his forehead to hers and letting out a breathless whimper. 

He draws out briefly before thrusting back in, and whispers, “I love you so much,” against her lips. “You’re everything, Emma. I love you.”

She’s trying to hold on the strangled cry that settles itself in her throat as he drags out and back in again, forcefully thrusting into her at exactly the right pace. She bites the flesh of his strong shoulder as he quickens his pace, her fingers digging into his back and his pelvis grinding against her clit at just the right angle. She whimpers against his skin and whispers, “I love you, Killian.” 

He leans down and kisses her with such passion and fire, all she can do is let out a contented, desperate hum and kiss him back. He continues his thrusts, steady and deep and just the right pace, until she feels the flutter deep in her belly as she tenses. Her whole body tenses. The muscles in her arms and legs lock in place as she feels the pressure building. 

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs into her ear, nipping gently and licking her skin immediately after. “Let go; let me catch you.” 

The rumble of his voice sets her over the edge as she lets herself fall apart in his arms. The moment she lets go around him, she feels him doing the same, spilling himself into her just like she remembers. She hasn’t felt such warmth and light and euphoria since she left him years ago. 

She holds on firmly, locking her ankles around him and clinging to him as he continues his thrusts, working her through her orgasm despite how sensitive she knows he must be. He murmurs praises and curses and admirations into her ear as she rolls with pleasure, clinging to her and refusing to let go, not that she minds. 

The only sound in the room is their matching, heaving breaths as they both try to come down from their highs. She finally becomes cognizant of how deeply her nails are clinging into his back and releases him, likely leaving half-moon indents behind and running her palms over his skin. She kisses his temple and hums contentedly, more satisfied now than she’s been in years. “God,” she breathes. “Amazing.”

“Aye,” he pants in agreement, laughing softly. “Been a while for me too, Swan.”

After another sigh, she says, “I’ve missed you.” 

“I’m here, love.”

“I know,” she whispers. “But I’ve missed this. Things are so good between us now.” 

“Aye,” he agrees, pulling out of her gently and causing both of them to hiss at the sensation of the loss of each other. He kisses the tip of her nose and says, “things are perfect.” 

“Yeah,” she smiles as she takes the tissue he offers her. 

Once they’re cleaned up and their breathing has evened out, they lie beside each other, facing one another as his fingers tickle soft, soothing patterns into her waist. “You know dinner is cold by now,” he tells her definitively. 

“I don’t mind reheating it,” she shrugs. 

She doesn’t mind much of anything, so long as she has him. 

  
  



End file.
